


hey you, baby blue

by pearypie



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, children au, outtake from the swinging sixties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 23:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearypie/pseuds/pearypie
Summary: 1954—little Ciel and little Lizzy playing in the winter garden.





	hey you, baby blue

**New York, 1954**

* * *

 

He’s five years old and sitting by the kindergarten swing set even though it’s the middle of December and school’s out of session. New York is awfully pretty decorated in fluffy white snow, tinged with the slightest hint of delphinium blue; the lemon-drop sun is still out, shining bright against a clear, Tiffany blue sky.

Blue.

So many different shades of blue, Ciel thinks, sitting in that snow dusted swing; rosy lips and cheeks tinged by winter’s kiss but with the bright butterscotch sun and clear, fresh gales, he feels at peace sitting alone in the schoolyard—if a little lonely. It’s not that he dislikes being by himself (sometimes, he even prefers it) but the sound of people murmuring in cafe bookstores or chatting softly by Central Park—

Well.

It’s nice.

_Sometimes._

It’s why he doesn’t protest when he hears the crunch, crunch, crunch of snow under the pink leather boots of his favorite cousin, Lizzy.

“Hiya baby blue.” She greets, warm and cheerful. Ciel thinks that’s what the sun would sound like.

“Hello Lizzy.” He doesn’t look up, keeps his gaze fixed on the tall, dark oak tree covered in frosty white snow.

He likes the aesthetic.

“Paula’s baked cookies and Mummy’s allowing me to use the pink rose china for tea this afternoon.” He hears the simple delight in her voice, can picture the wide smile appearing on her lips and how her cheeks must be flushed with excitement and natural ebullience.

She’s pretty, his Lizzy is.

“What kind of cookies?” He asks the important questions first.

“Butterscotch and chocolate chip.”

Ciel smiles, looking up at Lizzy. “I’ve always liked Paula.”

“And her cookies.” She replies laughingly, adjusting her pale pink mittens. Unlike Ciel, Lizzy Midford is a rose in spring; even surrounded by sparkling white snow, no one can deny her angel’s look and halo crown. Her pretty pink wool coat has a belt that cinches at the waist, with a matching warm white scarf, baby pink mittens, and a cute, pink and white ski cap resting atop an abundance of golden curls. “But how’re you baby blue?” She asks and Ciel wonders if she calls him that because he’s blue, blue, blue.

Cobalt haired, sapphire eyed, and dressed in a military coat of dark navy blue (complete with brass buttons carved with the Phantomhive crest) with a black wool scarf and black, black gloves. He admits he’s rather bleak looking compared to Lizzy’s bright, rose pink spring.

“I’m alright, as far as it goes.” He adds because he heard Uncle Diedrich say it and the sentence sounded so commanding coming from his father’s dear German friend that Ciel feels the urge to use it too.

Lizzy’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“It means I’m quite fine right now.” In all honesty, he’s not too sure what Uncle Diedrich meant by that phrase either. (Not that he'll admit it out loud.) 

“Oh.” Lizzy says and there’s a tranquil little pause between them before she walks closer, snow crunching under her polished pink boots. “Let’s go look at the winter roses.” 

Ciel gives her an odd look. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s far and I don’t want to walk around right now.”

“Very well—but I’m still going.” Lizzy says determinedly, turning around and marching off to find the winter gardens.

Ciel sighs, annoyed but somewhat curious. He’s never been to the abandoned greenhouse and right now, with winter’s frost still chilling the air, he supposes it’s as good a time as any to explore a children’s legend.

“Lizzy—wait.” Ciel calls (he doesn’t shout—Ciel _never_ shouts because father never shouts and Ciel wants to be just like his revered, mysterious papa) and gets up from the swing set.

Lizzy doesn’t wait—but she does walk slower, allowing Ciel to catch up. She knows Ciel hates it when people bring up his asthma so she tries her best to treat him like an adult.

If he’s aware of her efforts, he doesn’t show it—but he does give Lizzy a small little half-smile that makes the whole world right again. “I’m not gonna let you get lost.” He declares stoutly, grabbing Lizzy’s pink mittened hand. “Aunt Francis would never let me hear the end of it.”

“Mummy’s not scary.”

Ciel gives her a rather curious side eye that she ignores.

 

The winter gardens are composed of two abandoned greenhouses run rampant with plants, fallen shrubbery, and, with December’s blessing, mounds of icing-like snow that glimmer delicately beneath pale winter sunlight. The glass ceiling of both greenhouses have caved in and a few panels of the walls are broken as well—but it adds to the mysticism of this place, with its rambling rose vines and strange, shallow pools of white lilies and frosty gardenias.

It’s Lizzy’s favorite place in the whole wide world and Ciel, upon seeing this fairy’s grotto of ivy and spring, admits that it does have a certain charm to it.

He says so out loud.

“Like Hansel and Gretel—except we won’t get eaten by a mean old witch.” Lizzy smiles and Ciel wonders when his precious pink cousin grew so…what was that word mother used? McCabe? No—macabre! When did rose gold Lizzy think of murder and cannibalism on a day like this?

It makes Ciel laugh and he thinks she must have done it on purpose when he feels her squeeze his hand.

“Thank you Lizzy.”

She begins walking towards the pale pink roses (now lightly dusted with crystalline snow) and throws him another wide, beatific smile over her shoulder. “What for?”

He’s glad she’s pretending too.

“For being my favorite cousin.” He says at long last, reluctant to admit any more.

She giggles, tugging his hand closer. “Don’t be silly, baby blue.”

“Hey Lizzy?”

“Mmh?”

“Why do you call me that?” He’s genuinely curious but tries to ask the question carelessly—nonchalantly—just like father does all the time.

Lizzy thinks for a minute, eyes scanning the old wooden tables and chipped ceramic flower pots; gazing over the ragged pieces of rope and iris petals that litter the floor. She looks for a good long while before walking over to a small hyacinth plant, barely visible over the great blooming hellebores. Ciel watches with gentle fascination as she picks up the little potted plant and trots over, eyes sparkling with childish joy.

“Here.” Her voice is strong and clear—lark swift and reassuring.

Ciel raises a brow. “Why?”

“Because, _baby blue,_ it reminds me of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Sweet, innocent kids. They deserve a little happiness, don't they? (Plus I just love calling Ciel baby blue.) 
> 
> (Outtake from my swinging sixties au)


End file.
